


Imperfect Tense

by methylviolet10b



Series: Emergency Contact Number [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade learns more about a number of things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imperfect Tense

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written in response to the following prompt: "Quote - "I like a friend the better for having faults that one can talk about." -- William Hazlitt, 1826" The story is a continuation of the plot started in Emergency Contact Number. If you haven't read that, this might not be the story for you.

Exactly nine and a half minutes after the call ended, a sleek black car pulled up to where he stood waiting outside his front door. Lestrade climbed in and saw Mycroft Holmes sitting perfectly upright in the back seat, not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle in the perfectly-fitted suit, not even the remotest indication of the hour (past midnight), the situation (on their way to notify Sherlock that his flatmate had been in an auto accident and was currently undergoing surgery, prognosis unknown), or any kind of emotional impact. The man was calm, collected, and serene in a way that might have been comforting, if Lestrade hadn’t been a professional himself. As it was, he found it entirely grating.

“Thank you again for the call, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft told him courteously as they pulled away. “It was most considerate of you.”

“Yeah, well,” Lestrade mumbled, not exactly at his best. He rubbed one hand over his face. “I haven’t been able to find out any more details.”

“I have.” Mycroft slightly turned his head away from Lestrade, as if towards another passenger, but there was no one else in the passenger compartment. Lestrade couldn’t see the driver, of course, or anyone else that might be up there behind the darkened security glass. He wondered briefly if the Blackberry-wielding assistant was riding up front for a change. He’d never seen Mycroft Holmes without her, come to think of it. Before he could ponder this, Mycroft turned back towards him, took a slightly deeper breath than usual, and began reciting facts as if he had a dossier in front of him. “Doctor Watson was in a cab, returning to Baker Street, when the car became involved in a major vehicular incident. Preliminary reports indicate that the cab driver was unable to avoid the initial collision, possibly due to a combination of significant speed and unfavorable weather conditions, and that the cab was subsequently struck by several other vehicles. It took more than twenty minutes for responders to cut Dr. Watson free from the wreckage, by which time he had experienced severe blood loss from several obvious injuries. He was unconscious and unresponsive when evacuated from the scene, but still alive. On the way to hospital, he experienced cardiac arrhythmia and respiratory distress, probably due to hypovolemia, but did not go into active cardiac arrest. Upon arrival, he was immediately brought to surgery to address the most obviously threatening injuries and halt the bleeding. He is still in surgery now.” Mycroft blinked, and then his eyes focused on Lestrade’s face with a polite, inquiring expression.

“Jesus.” Lestrade ran one hand over his face, trying to erase the chill brought on by what he’d just heard. “And how the hell did your people miss all that?”

It probably wasn’t the wisest thing to blurt out, but it was late and he was tired and worried half to death, both by John's likely condition, and anticipating Sherlock’s probable reaction to the news.

Mycroft took the question in stride, as if it was a perfectly normal, logical thing to say. “My people tracked the wrong cab.”

“They what?” It was such an ordinary, plausible answer, Lestrade didn’t quite believe his ears. It was the kind of screw-up that happened in surveillance work sometimes, at least at the Yard. He never imagined that it could happen to…well, whatever the hell Mycroft’s people were.

“Believe me, Detective Inspector, I am no more pleased about this than you are. While my people realized their error fairly quickly, they did not take adequate steps to address the issue. More significantly, they ignored certain…protocols. I have already taken steps to address this, but my current priority is, of course, my brother and Dr. Watson.”

The words were calm, the delivery faultless. The man was utterly collected, but not cold. There was just the right trace of focused concern in his delivery, but it was a grace note, an expected decorative accent, like the perfectly folded pocket-square in the breast pocket of his exquisitely tailored suit. There wasn’t a single flaw in his performance.

 _Perfect,_ Lestrade thought to himself, and shivered slightly. _The perfectly appropriate reactions and responses to every occasion, even this one._ He thought of Sherlock, all razor-sharp wit and utterly narrowed focus and (hopefully ex-) chemical dependencies and absolute lack of social graces, and he felt a sudden, deep, sympathetic epiphany. _God, no wonder he acts out like he does sometimes. Mycroft is the perfect older brother._ _The perfect Holmes._

 _God,_ Sherlock.

The car pulled up and stopped in front of 221 Baker Street.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 12, 2011


End file.
